


green is the colour

by kaixo (ballpoint)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/kaixo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Dier comes to grips with his new midfield responsibilities and professional jealousy towards Dele. It’s not anyone’s fault, but it’s no less painful. </p><p>(one day, I'll do a story from dele's pov. one day)</p>
            </blockquote>





	green is the colour

_“Football is love, death and expectation” - David Ginola_

 

 **The Lame King: A Tottenham Spurs Fan Blog. October 05, 2015**  
-follow iamfire@twitter

**Do worry, do panic!**

Oh oh. It is that time again. Didn’t we just go through this in August?  
International Break. 

The lowest of the lows in a football season, lower than our clean sheets and potential odds in challenging for a title this year. 

International Break. 

The savvier of us will use this week to download our lives; playing catch up with our families, or enjoy a full day of productivity at work without sweating over a match result before, during and after the match and what it does to our standings. The rest of us will build a shrine and pray to Chirpy to intercede with the football deities and ask them to protect the Spurs lads called up, primarily Harry Kane, and (possibly?) Dele Alli, with hopes they come back to us in one piece, ready for us to do our Champions League push. 

COYS!

_Fontvielle, Monaco_

“Wow, someone’s buzzing!” 

The evening before the Europa tie against Monaco, and everyone turned up to the hotel’s dining room -closed off to everyone else but the players and staff -- as they tucked into their evening meal. 

Intrigued, Eric looked up from his plate, and across from the table at Danny. With a jerk of his head, Danny motioned Eric to look at the figure at the door, and it was Dele, speaking with Pochettino. Dele’s face now practically glowing, as if he’d swallowed neon sticks. His grin so big, it could be seen from the other side of the room. Pochettino lightly punched Dele’s shoulder, in that avuncular way he had with players when things were going well. 

“Pochettino finally got our lad a girlfriend?” Jan teased, coaxing warm laughter from the rest of the table. 

“No,” Eric sipped at his water, his voice lost in the din of laughter and chatter by Jan’s comment. His eyes narrowing because he had a feeling what the happy news Dele received might have been about. “Far from it.”

***

**Monaco 1- 1 Tottenham Hotspur - BBC Sport**

_The substitutions have made the difference. Dirar swung in a magnificent cross and El Shaarawy got to it before Trippier and powered a header into the net from close range!_

_Stephan El Shaarawy's late header denied Tottenham all three points in Monaco after a 1-1 draw in their Europa League Group J clash._

***

“All that for a draw, _waste_ ,” Toby groused as he clicked his seatbelt secure.

“You get draws away, and try to win all your home matches, mate, that’s how it goes, innit?”  
Danny rolled his shoulders, upbeat as anything. “So we get ‘em to the lane, and smash ‘em, easy.”

Winks and Carroll were whispering over a portable scrabble game, Carroll furiously protesting that “Cox,” wasn’t a word. “It’s spelt C-O-C-K-S, innit?”

Winks clapped his hand to his mouth, but too late, as a fit of giggles spilled out. 

“Triple score,” Carroll said, as Winks’ face turned puce, his body rocked with laughter. 

Twelve weeks into this season, and although they had new players, the team felt different, _comfortable_ , Eric thought, as he settled into his seat. The blind for the window up, the lights of the runway distant and flickering. The match finished, and everyone showered, and changed, Pochettino wanted out of Monaco ASAP. 

Yes, a window seat. Eric unfolded the light blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, dragged the edge of his beanie over his eyes. The animated chatter of players flowed around him. The conversations and atmosphere soothing, like a house of siblings who clearly got _on_ , as they found their friends to sit with. The business of settling into seats, flight clearance, and the plane up and levelling.

“Diet.”

With one thumb, Eric lifted the corner of his beanie, not surprised to find Dele seated beside him. Yeah, Dele was still smiling, looking more like nine than all of nineteen, his dark eyes wide and filled with sparkle like an anime character from one of the shows that his sister liked. 

“Dell-boy,” Eric pushed his beanie off his face. 

“Can I tell you _now_?” Dele asked. Last night, when they were in their shared hotel room, Dele wanted to say, but Eric shook his head. “We have a game tomorrow, and you can tell me after.”

Dele’s brows came together with a frown, the line of his mouth mutinous. Before Dele could protest, Eric shook his head again and wagged his finger at Dele. “Tomorrow. If Pochettino even _suspects_ that you’re telling me something that’s going to take our focus off Monaco, he’ll bench us both.”

With a languid wave, Dele batted Eric’s hand away. “All right,” Dele threw himself on his bed, with an ungainly ‘thud.’ Former mood quickly restored, because the news was obviously that good, he threw Eric a smile, brilliant in the dim light of the room. 

Unable to return it, Eric slipped in the adjoining bathroom. 

Fast forward to now. Although Dele’s sponsors were Adidas, he had to travel in Tottenham’s togs when he was on the clock, which he did do. From the matching navy Spurs beanie, to their blue on blue polo shirts with dark blue shell bottoms. The only nod to his sponsors were his adidas shoes in sober colours. 

“Let me think about it,” Eric drawled, and got rewarded for his wind up by Dele looking as if he wanted to scream with frustration. 

“ _Dier_.”

“All right,” Eric shifted in his seat, giving Dele his full attention. “Go on.”

“Last night, I was speaking with the gaffer, yeah? He told me that I’d gotten an England call up to the Under 19s-”

“Wait, wait,” Eric held up a hand, because this wasn’t news to be walking around like three Christmases came all at once as much as a come down. “ Weren’t you playing for the U21s? When did you get shunted to the U19s?”

A roll of eyes with exasperation, and a smirk by Dele then. “Poch was winding me up, I got called to the men’s. With H.”

Eric felt his ribcage tighten, as if squeezed roughly by an unseen hand. For long seconds, emotions pummelled him from odd angles. A throb of disappointment, the unease of disquiet. A thrill for his friend who could barely contain himself in his seat, still buzzing and glowing like the lights of Piccadilly Circus.

“Congratulations,” Eric said at last, holding on to the happy and ignoring the rest. “Seriously.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Eric repeated, holding up a lightly closed fist for a fist bump. “Well deserved.”

“I-” Dele started, and got cut off as the loudspeaker came on. Harry on the mike at the front of the plane, “- an announcement. It seems Dele has gotten his first senior call up-”

Harry didn’t get to finish as cheers were sent up in the plane. 

“Stand up, Dele,” Christian encouraged, his head peeking over the top of the seat. “Let us see!”

With a last glance at Eric, and strangely looking half shy, Dele stood up to shouts and whistles, as the others came up to him with warm congratulations. 

Eric looked out the window, the lights of Monaco faded away in the distance, with nothing but clouds and the inky sky ahead. 

He checked his watch. Fifty five minutes more before they got back to London. He couldn’t wait to get off this plane. 

**July 2015**

**Bird standing on Ball: A Spurs fanblog**  
Twitter: chirpymcchirp

**Eric Dier: midfield?!**

Pochettino is drinking _something_ from a gourd, and friends, maybe... it’s not _maté_. 

In light of being unable to tie down a DM for our upcoming season, it seems that necessity is the mother of invention- and maybe the reinvention of Eric Dier. Dier originally got shipped in from Sporting Lisbon as a center back, and paired with Vertonghen last season. However, with our new signings ( Alderweireld and Wimmer), Dier is now being pushed forward.  
Given how bad our defense was last season (we let in the same amount of goals as Hull - and they are in the Championship!), Pochettino is aware that something needs to be done, and fast, especially since Southampton are locking down their players and being deaf to all offers this season as they too seek to at least, strengthen their league accolades this season. 

Remember this; if football were carefree, we’d all be Chelsea. 

COYS

***

**August 02 2015**

“This is your first time in midfield?” Dele asked, half incredulous, busy doing a bunny hop with a ball, before doing a neat flick with the heel of his foot. With everyday that passed playing and training alongside him, Eric could see why Pochettino liked him. Dele had skill and lots of flair. 

“Sort of? I've done it before. But, yeah, I guess.”

“Mad,” Dele said, as he twisted his body, creating shapes around the ball to control it with a careless, carefree grace. “What were you before?”

“CB.” Eric said, dropping into a stretch, hearing the incredulity in Dele’s laugh. “That’s mental,” Dele said, as he kicked the ball high into the air with a flourish, spun and caught it between his shoulder blades. Another shift, and it appeared on his shoulder, if it it were a parrot. A flick, back to his instep, a couple of keep ups before flicking it in the air and catching it in his hands. 

“It’s what the manager wants.” Eric said simply.

“Yeah, I get it. But - I’ve always played in midfield, so I know what I’m about. You’re having to relearn.”

“You’ve _always_ been in midfield?” 

“Tried out being a goalie once, because of my height, but...” Dele trailed off with a grin. 

Yeah, Dele had some height on him all right, about the same height as Hugo. Lean to the point of wiry, a sketch of a player who had yet to fill out. But again, he was only nineteen. 

“The outfield.”

“Yeah, it just happened.” 

Yeah, Eric understand that. Like him being moved to midfield. Dropping into a lunge, he gazed around them, taking in the practice field. The organisers of the Audi cup had done their magic, their team tucked into a tidy part of Munich with pristine playing fields, framed by leafy trees and cheerful gardens. Each field armed with practice goals, partitions for quick five a side play, and cones, mannequins and various hurdles for training. Due to their place in the pivot, Pochettino encouraged them to stay and practice beyond the training time. Eric knew why, because Pochettino wanted a _rapport_ between them both. To his credit, Dele made it easy, he worked hard, and had clever moves. 

“Any tips on being in the midfield, then?”

Dele laughed, as he let the ball fall from his hands onto his instep and fired it towards Eric. 

Eric killed the momentum of the ball with one touch, and with another, booted it towards Dele. No words needed as they settled into a comfortable two touch game, knocking the ball back and forth between them. The late summer sun washing over the field, on their bodies, and it felt less like extra training for a soon to come match and more like a late evening kick about after school. 

“Just try to think faster than everyone else, shut down everyone else who isn’t on your side. Defend your goalie, feed the offense, and you’ll be all right.”

“Are you?” Eric stepped back, eyes on the ball, arms lightly swaying in counterpoint to balance his body. “It’s been busy.”

An understatement, to say the least, hopping from Denver, Colorado, back to grueling preseason training, and now at the Audi Cup. Eric remembered his own baptism by fire last season, dropping into the shock of all competitions and finishing up with an end of season tour. 

“I -” the hollow _thunk_ of the ball. “Yeah.” Dele’s voice trailed off, the ball falling at his feet.

Startled, Eric hurried to Dele’s side. “Are you alright? You look a bit-- pale.”

“Hah,” Dele scoffed, as he lifted his hand, and waved it at Eric. Being mixed race, Dele’s skin hit more dark tawny than _cafe au lait_ , on the colour scale. “You’re having a giraffe, mate.”

“For _you_ , I mean.” 

“We’re playing Real Madrid tomorrow.”

“Scared?”

“No,” Dele grinned, and Eric couldn’t help but return said grin. “I can’t wait to go and smash ‘em.”

***

**The Lame King: A Tottenham Hotspur Blog. Match Report: Real Madrid vs. Tottenham Hotspur: final score 2-0, Spurs fall in Audi Cup friendly** twitter:birdstandingonball

Tottenham Hotspur took on Real Madrid in the first match for the Audi Cup semi finals at the Allianz Arena in Germany. Spurs played against former players Gareth Bale and Luka Moric who started the match for Real Madrid. 

**Observations**

  * The purple kits are nice. 
  * The Audi Cup is rubbish, as our British friends would say. Three days before the start of the season, why are we there? It’s still rubbish.
  * Real Madrid is one of the best teams in the world, we were going to get spunked 
  * Eric Dier as DM. He’s not crap, but he’s not Morgan Schneiderlin- whom we really wanted. Is Dier as midfielder going to be a _thing_? I’m not convinced of this thing. In Poch we trust, I know, I know.
  * Dele Alli is some player and he’s _ours_.. He NUTMEGGED LUKA MORIC! Y’ALL. HE. NUTMEGGED. LUKA. MORDIC. PRINCE ALI, FABULOUS HE...AND HE’S OURS



***

Even abroad, during a glamour tournament, analytics didn’t stop. After a light training session, showers and dinner, Eric and Dele found themselves seated opposite Pochettino with a whiteboard with the diagram of a football pitch and coloured markers placed in front of them.

“I know, Real Madrid was... _difficult_. Tomorrow might be easier.” Pochettino started, his voice sympathetic. Half of the team drafted in this season were new bodies, and they were getting to know each other off and on the field. 

The debrief thorough, with observations and notes scribbled in the A4 notebook Pochettino had on his desk. As the enormity of the task stretched in front of Eric, of a new position, and as such a new learning curve to flatten, it also felt very painful. Especially since Dele - seated in a fold up chair to his left- had played fluently, because he knew enough of his position to riff and improvise. 

“That was terrible,” Eric said at last after Pochettino left. Exhausted, he rested his chin on his elbow, hoping to gather enough strength to take himself to their room, because he needed rest. 

“Preseason, innit?” Dele agreed, as he sipped at his water. Both of them seated in the empty conference room that the hotel left vacant. 

“Yeah,” Eric agreed, not really pushing the fact that their first League match was in three days. “You did well, nutmegging Mordic.” 

“Yeah, that was... nice,” Dele’s grin held for a few seconds before it faded. “We lost though.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Eric advised. Like himself, Ali dressed in the club polo with dark shell bottoms. “You always have to forget today, like the gaffer says.”

“Even the Mordic nutmeg?”

Eric and Dele traded a look before they dissolved into peals of laughter. Not on your life, mate.

***

The Premier League season kicked off as it did, in true Spursy fashion with the twelfth player, Mr Own Goal lodging in the back of their half at Old Trafford.

Eric didn’t take too long to get changed. Once you lost a game, you just wanted to shower, change, get on the field and start again. 

The great thing was, he didn’t have to do media duties after the game, because the press had Harry and Dele in their sights. Them waiting on Harry to dazzle like he did last time, and Dele’s presence was the question yet to be answered; could he make the step up from League 1 to the Premiere League? 

Pochettino’s refusal to send him on loan made him a curiosity, and the subject of interviews. The club tried to protect him from interviews, but you couldn’t hold off the press for long; you had to give them _something_ in order to bargain for privacy. 

It helped that Dele had personality, and an easy way about him when it came to interviews. You almost forgot that Harry had yet to find the back of the net since the start of the season, especially when Dele played on the field.

***

King Power Stadium was a real pisser of a ground to play in, not due to the pitch, but the way how it was built. The supporters seemed to be on top of you, sat in their steep terraced seats, raining down inventive invectives. Their shouts underscored by the clappers the supporters slapped against their palms with a sharp _thwack_ multiplied that by thirty thousand made the grounds vibrate. The walls high enough to contain the sound of the crowd, making the shouts and jeers and cheers bounce of its walls to a reverb. At times, it got loud enough where you couldn’t speak with your own players.

Today seemed even worse, a bright autumnal Saturday, and everyone seemed up for it. Tottenham had gone five games without a win, and the mood around the supporters seemed fretful. 

Dele squaring up to Fuchs on the far side of the pitch didn’t help. Eric stepped between them before Martin Atkinson came charging over with whistle and a yellow card in tow. Fuchs brushed past Eric, with an extra push as he shouldered past. For a split second Eric thought of relating with a shove, but he had pressing business at hand, as he turned to face Dele. 

“You really need to calm down.”

“I am calm.” Dele answered in a way that didn’t sound _calm_ at all, his mouth curled into a scornful snarl. 

“You’re riding your luck on a yellow, that’s what you’re doing.”

“I’m-”

“Dele, if you get sent off, we’re in trouble. Pack it in, now.”

“Fine,” Dele bit out, the word razor sharp. Eric jogged on, back to his place. He couldn’t worry about Dele now, he had Hugo and Jan and Toby to help out. 

Not that he needed to worry about Dele, who broke away on the counter, Harry drawing the defence, with Dele slithering behind the defender, scoring the only goal of the match.

***

“Eric, Yes!”

Eric caught himself in a vice grip of a hug by Hugo. Caught off guard by the hug, Eric’s arms waved around before he returned the embrace. The supporters were cheering, and he knew the song about them being on The Park side. 

Another clean sheet, and clean sheets made Hugo delirious with happiness. Oh, winning was good too. After the first six games of playing well but having frustrating draws, they were making headway. 

“Hah! If I’d known this made you happy, I’d have volunteered for being a DM sooner,” Eric said, but the noise at White Hart lane was such that Hugo didn’t hear, and thanked him again.

***

**October 05 2015**

International break wasn’t a break for _everyone_ , just the ones who were called away on international duty, and Eric wasn’t one of them. Nor was Danny. 

“I’m surprised that you weren’t called up, mate, to be honest.”

Eric exhaled heavily. He wanted to tell Danny to leave it, but it wasn’t as if Danny didn’t have his own issues with the English NT. After being passed over by the lads from Southampton and Arsenal for his position due to its depth, that was rough. 

“It’s fine,” Eric twirled the table tennis racket’s handle in his palm. They were in the games room, each at the opposite side of a ping pong table. Training didn’t let up as much over the International Break as much as - change. 

“It’s not, not really. I mean, Carrick is on his last legs, isn’t he? England doesn’t have a DM and Wilshire is crocked. You should be a shoo in. When was the last time you got called up?”

“To the under 21s, as a right back. November 2014.”

Danny placed his hand to his mouth as if he thought of a naughty phrase and came thisclose to being in danger of spitting it out. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he said, and the _oh_ encapsulated all the doubts and fears for Eric’s international career. 

“Yeah, oh.” Eric smartly tapped at the ball with the flat of the ping pong paddle, and pushing it from his mind. It was what it was. “First person to thirty has to buy the other dinner tonight.”

**The Crooked King : A Tottenham Hotspur Blog**

**How to eat crow; a recipe**  
Ingredients

  * One demented Argentine 
  * One converted centre back to defensive midfielder. 
  * Bravery and time
  * The confidence to try, the ability to learn from mistakes and get better 



Mix these ingredients in a dish, bake until skepticism is replaced with belief. Serve with a good beer, and eat, gladly.  
Our goal defence and clean sheets never looked so good. Thank you, Poch and thank you Dierwolf, you beautiful man.

**subscribe | login in**

***

After the match reels, Pochettino reached over to the remote, and paused the recording, which ended on Eric and Hugo hugging in the middle of the field.

“You’re doing well, good work.”

 _Not well enough to get on the national team_ , Eric thought bitterly. Or he thought he’d thought bitterly, but by the concerned frown on Pochettino’s features, Eric realised that he’d said it aloud. During their one on one analytical sessions in the analysis room, because that was professional. Rubbing at his face with his hands in frustration, Eric shook his head and tried to wave off the awkwardness. 

“I’m sorry, I- forget that I said anything.”

Pochettino leaned back in his chair. Because it was individual feedback, and a session where you spoke about things in general, the setup was less formal. Both chairs facing each other, and the backdrop of the projector in the background as if it were a private cinema experience for them both instead of previewing the oncoming Swansea match. 

“I can, if you want,” Pochettino laced his fingers, hands in his lap. “But football isn’t just about your bodies running about on the field, it’s about your mind too, no?”

“My mind is on the Swansea game.”

Silence. 

Pochettino knew how to use dead air, how to sit in it and make it _grow_. To make it so still, you heard the hum of the radiators, and the footsteps of other people going to and fro outside, their voices muffled through the heavy door. The weight of the unsaid frustrations ticking over, and multiplied.

“I’m happy for H, and Dele- I _am_ ,” Eric began, his palms turned up in supplication. Pochettino nodded and gestured for him to go on. 

“I... I haven’t been called up since November 2014. Not since I backed out of selection a year ago.”

“They said it was all right, no?”

“Yeah, because I was training to work on being a CB because I didn’t want to be an RB. Only _now_ I’m a DM and- my position has changed. I just -” Eric swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m -” _afraid that I might be overlooked_.

“I wish I could say that you can go back to being a CB,” - Pochettino’s voice sounded kind, which only made the following statement more painful- “But the team need you in midfield. At least until the end of the season. After that, who knows? You’re young, and still with the U21s. If you wanted to play international football, there are other nationalities you can investigate and declare...”

“No,” Eric replied, his voice tight with frustration as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he looked down at his shoes. “There’s only England.”

***

“The England set up was alright,” Dele to his credit, could do a good poker face for a good minute, but his mood was too buoyant to keep up the façade.

Eric shook his head, and went straight into box drills. Passing, receiving and trying to avoid being nutmegged by Dele and failing. 

The lunchroom filled with everyone else back from their far flung commitments for International break. Coco moaning about how long it took to fly from Argentina back to Spurs. Christian’s demurral about Denmark’s chances were for the Euros, the Belgians making jokes about the adverts they had to do for their national team. Hugo didn’t say much, because it was practically _old hat_ to him, his statements minimal to the point of boredom, “It’s international break, no? We go and return.”

Eric at shades of desperate. He wasn’t jealous at all, because his teammates deserved their call up. They did but- Eric cut that thought off, his fingers forming into fits, his emotions bubbling in his stomach like acid. Eric thought that he’d squared it, resigned to everything, but Harry put paid to that, especially when Harry was speaking with to Dele and Ryan and Kyle about Jamie Vardy, the Leicester striker who seemingly blew up overnight, it seemed. “I know him from Leicester- I was on loan there for a minute,” Harry’s voice shades of apology and self depreciation. “It didn’t go too well, I’m afraid.”

Kyle then spoke admirably about John Stones, and the other Everton boys, and it wasn’t as if Eric didn’t _know_ the set up, because he went on loan to Everton for eighteen months, thank you very much. But it wouldn’t do to interrupt, because it was _international duty_ and you had to be glad for your teammates being called up, right? It benefited the club, benefitted the team and - 

He was going around the twist. 

“Excuse me,” Eric pushed his plate away, after eating fast enough to risk heartburn. He was professional enough to honour the fact that he needed to refuel before the next training session, but emotional enough to know that he needed to step away for a minute. Without waiting for a by your leave, Eric grabbed at his jacket and left.

It was still too early to just _leave_ so Eric returned to the field. The kit men hadn’t packed all the balls away, the cones still there at equidistant distances in order to aid dribbling. Providence took pity on his dark mood, because the afternoon was a gift; a balm to a dark mood evaporating under the bright sun and a bright, vivid blue sky. 

Eric took a ball, and started to do lazy flicks from one foot to the other. Not too much action, since he’d just eaten, but it felt good to do an exercise where you weren’t timed, with lungs set to bursting. 

Soon, that activity lost its lustre, and Eric sat down heavily on the grass, legs stretched out in front of him. He would sit with this emotion for twenty minutes, he told himself, and when he got up, that would be the end of it. 

“Hey, Diet.” 

“Dele,” Eric looked over his shoulder briefly, and did a little wave. Unlike Eric and everyone else who trained in shorts and short sleeves, Dele always swathed his limbs in long sleeves and trousers. Forever cold, with that body of his. 

“You didn’t stay for lunch,” Dele said, as soon as he came close enough within earshot to have a polite conversation. “Sonny was telling a funny story about his time on - well, a funny story.”

“Sorry I didn’t hear it, I just needed some...” _Space_. “Air.”

Eric felt Dele’s presence beside him as he sat down, and Eric realised - their change in circumstances didn’t really change his feelings towards Dele. He had no tinge of resentment towards his friend at all, and again, he grabbed for the happy in that. 

“We missed you, you know.”

“Sorry?”

“On International Duty.” 

“Right.” Eric sniffed. 

“Give over,” Dele said, as he threw an arm around Eric’s shoulders and drew him close, both of them overbalancing and spilling onto the grass. Eric found his face smushed between the hinge of Dele’s neck and shoulder, Dele’s voice a low rumble in his ear. 

“Honestly, you should’ve been there with us, Eric. You make everyone play better.”

“That’s up to the coach, I think.”

“Everyone knows it. Not that we should follow the news but-- everybody knows. Besides, if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have been called up.”

At Eric’s sharp _tut_ , Dele backed up a bit. “All right, I _might_ have been called up-” Dele’s voice wasn’t boastful, just a matter of fact. Which made his following comment sincere, “But not as quickly as I have been.”

“I’m not thinking about it. I’m thinking about Swansea and coming away with three points.”

“They do have a decent midfield. Sigurdsson seems decent, still.”

Defeated, because he didn’t want to think of Swansea right now, Eric sighed, “Tell me about international week instead.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why?” Eric asked peevishly. What the-?

“You’ll be with us soon enough, and can you see for yourself.”

“Okay.” Eric answered unconvincingly, because he _didn’t_ know. Danny had been waiting for the NT call up going on three years, and he knew English players who looked through their ancestry to find a home nation to play for when an England place became unattainable. But he didn’t want to think about it anymore, because it wasn’t worth it. Champions League was a more realistic target to aim for, all you had to do was get enough points for top four, and next season, you were there.

“Chaps.”

Eric raised his head, lifting his hand to his face to shield it from the sun overhead. Ah, it was Harry loping over, with Kyle and Ryan ambling and chatting to each other in the background. 

“Hey, H. ,” Dele pushed himself into a sitting position and waved at his teammate. “It’s not time already, is it?”

“No, but it’s too nice a day to stay inside,” Harry stood over them, tall but too friendly to be as imposing as he could be. “What are you two up to anyway?”

“Plotting world domination-”

“One nutmeg at a time,” Eric finished, as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Although that’s more Dele’s thing than mine.”

“Funny,” Dele said, patting Eric’s knee in a show of support. “I was telling Eric here that he’d be in the next call up.”

“For sure,” Harry agreed with a nod. “You’ve been playing well, I can’t see why not. What do you think, lads?”

Ryan winked and gave a thumbs up. “It’s not even an if, but a when, mate.” Kyle nodded his assent.

Eric rubbed at the nape of his neck, his face feeling suddenly warm. “Thanks. We’ll see, eh?”

***

**November 03, 2015**

 **The Crooked King : A Tottenham Hotspur Blog Nov 05, 2015**  
@birdonball 

Another international break. Like death and taxes, the international break will always be with us. Rumour has it that our Dierwolf might be called up for the English NT. Well deserved, but don’t break him please, Roy. We have no other DM. 

On this international break, I’m going to learn to do tenmari balls. They are pretty, they bounce a little. They're amazing demonstrations of non-Euclidean geometry.

What will you be doing for this International break? Grouting the bathroom? Perfect your crow pose? Answers on a postcard. 

Coize.

***

Eric liked lunch times. Four months into the new season and the other guys had slotted into the team seamlessly. Trips and Kyle laughing and speaking animately with Ryan and Harry. Hugo engaged in a deep conversation with Toby, and Eric wondered if they both found out that Kyle had rigged their lockers. Judging by the good mood of the conversation, he didn’t think so.

At his table, Sonny and Kevin were speaking and eating with each other, sitting side by side, with himself and Dele at the other side of the table. Sonny and Kevin’s conversation and manner so characteristically open, it allowed Dele and Eric to dip in and out of the conversation with much laughter.

“So, if I get this right, a tamagotchi is a virtual egg?”

“Yes.” Kevin nodded. “It used to be a popular toy in the 1990s, I started collecting them about two years ago.”

“You _still_ look after this... tamagotchi?” Dele snickered, holding a hand over his mouth, his eyes shining with amusement. 

“Yes,” Kevin answered in earnest tones. “Mine is a-- a-” he broke off, waving his hands around in small mincing motions, opening and closing his mouth as if he were biting. 

“A dinosaur?” Eric questioned. 

“Yes!” Kevin answered, eyes bright. “I’m very proud. The longest it’s lived has been twelve months? I was doing quite well, yes? Of course, it died when I got here due to preseason and training?” He always spoke like this - a strange sort of upspeak - as if every sentence ended with a question mark. “Now that things are settled, I’m getting back to looking after it?”

“Oh, mate,” Eric shook his head as he wiped at his eyes. “That’s brilliant. You should give Dele a tamagotchi, it might teach him some responsibility.”

“Ha, ha, ha, _funny_.” Dele replied sarcastically, as they caught each other’s eye for a brief second before turning their attention to their teammates. 

“Oh, I do have a few extra, I could give you one, Dele.”

“You have more than one of them things? I think you’re winding us up. Are you hearing this, Diet?”

“Do you have any pink? To bring out the colour of his eyes, really.” Eric cracked, as he pushed his chair from his table and started packing his empty containers on the lunch tray. 

Dele covered his face with the palm of his hand, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. 

“Shall I get rid of the trays? Since I’m up?”

Sonny offered his tray with thanks, Kevin waved Eric off, because he still hadn’t finished his lunch. Dele pushed his tray towards Eric, but kept his bottle of water by his side. 

Eric got up, half surprised to see Pochettino in their section of the dining room. Normally the coaching staff left the players to themselves, because Pochettino felt the need for the players to have their own space to commiserate or congratulate each other on results throughout the season. 

“Eric,” Pochettino greeted, “a word?”

“Sure,” Eric left the trays on the table and walked over to the edge of the dining room, where the windows opened out to the rest of the Enfield training complex. 

Pochettino was in his uniform of white tracksuit top, dark bottoms and matching under armour shoes. He must have taken off his beanie if his hat hair was anything to go by. 

“I was speaking with Roy Hodgson after the Aston Villa game,” Pochettino began, the corners of his eyes creasing with amusement. 

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations,” Pochettino smiled, “I am sure you’re on the list.”

It felt as if he’d swallowed sunshine, the glow unfurling in his stomach, burning his skin and feeling his face warm.

“I - thank you," Eric shook Pochettino's outstretched hand. "Thank you so much.” 

Pochettino did a quick little shrug, his smile enigmatic. “It's your efforts that did this. See you at training.”

With that, he slapped Eric on the shoulder and ambled off. 

Eric looked at Pochettino’s retreating form, and unable to control himself, did a triumphant fist pump. He spun around to face his table, half surprised to realise that Sonny, Kevin and Dele were staring. Dele jumped up, and hurried towards him.

“Are you-?” Dele began. 

“Yeah,” and Eric’s cheeks ached from the pain of smiling but he couldn't stop. “Yeah.”

“Yes!” Dele whooped, his voice loud enough that conversation paused, and all heads turned in their direction. 

“I got the call up.” Eric's voice hoarse with the wonder of it, as Dele threw an arm around his neck, his smile as brilliant as a starburst. Eric held Dele close, his arm around his waist. The whole hearted cheers and whistles from his teammates triggered a swarm of emotions because - it was another adventure, and something he’d wanted for so long. 

“I told you,” Dele said smugly, their foreheads close enough to almost touching. 

“Yeah,” Eric just couldn't stop smiling, the emotions whizzing through him like fireworks on New Year’s Eve as he agreed. “You told me.”

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes**
> 
>   * The Audi Cup is an invitational only glamour tournament which is held once every two years (biannually). Tottenham Hotspur wasn’t the first name on the EPL to be invited, but the others (rumored to be Chelsea and Arsenal) spurned the invitation because the dates were 3-4 days before the new EPL season started. That being said, the tournament is supposedly a bfd. The club bumf on the cup can be found here
>   * Spurs went to Monaco to play Europa league group stage- October 1st 2015- Alli got called to the national NT two days before [Spurs drew 1-1](https://www.google.co.uk/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=tottenham%20hotspur%20europa%20league%202015%2F16)
>   * Eric Dier supposedly refused a call up to the English U21s back in November 2014, choosing to stay at Spurs and train instead (he didn't want to be an rb, so he trained as a cb, only to be tapped up as a dm under Pochettino). A lot of newspapers had him as a refusenik especially since he was overlooked for an U21 tourney in summer 2015 . Finally got his call up to the men's senior team [Nov 07, 2015](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-3308585/Eric-Dier-says-England-call-dream-Spurs-star-latest-youngster-Mauricio-Pochettino-production-line.html)
>   * In the last three years, Pochettino has supplied 10 debutantes [Eric Dier is the 10th on this list](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-3270511/Mauricio-Pochettino-nurtured-nine-England-s-16-newly-capped-players-lived-reputation-investing-youth-Southampton-Tottenham.html%20) to the senior English NT. The other nineteen teams have supplied the other six. 
> 



End file.
